The Words I Couldn't Say
by Blue eyed fantasies
Summary: Post CoLS *Spoilers ahead* You gave me everything and I gave you nothing in return. It's what drove us apart - those words. So I'm going to give them to you now. You will know me in my entirety, the real Magnus Bane - a unique gift. I know it's not much of a consolation, not after all I've done to you. I know I can't ask anything of you but I ask you to read them. I'm sorry.
1. Would you forgive me?

**Today, I had the absolutely brilliant idea of re-reading CoLS on a rainy day whilst listening to Tears in Heaven. 'Cause I'm a smart cookie like that. As if _once_ wasn't bad enough. Needless to say, it just provoked my Malec depression which I thought was dying away. **

**It's come back with a vengeance.**

** Anyway, I'm posting a warning, an unhappy story warning. I will not be held responsible for excessive chocolate consumption, uncontrollable crying or for any insatiable need to read fluff after reading this story. You've been warned. Reviews would be appreciated, even if they're just a lot of :'(**

**It's post CoLS, obviously, so no peeking if you haven't read the book. Technically, it's Magnus writing a letter to Alec and that's about all you need to know. You should catch the gist of it after a while since I think I made it pretty obvious...**

**Sorry if it sounds... I dunno, rough or scattered or has numerous punctuation errors but I was a bit upset when I wrote it. I had a big lull of inspiration for my other fics and then I suddenly got the inspiration to write this. Not quite what I was looking for but I wrote it down and felt it needed to be published. There could be more chapters; memories of the two of them and stuff. I'll just see how it goes.**

**I don't own the Mortal Instruments. If I did a certain break-up would never have happened.**

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**Forgive and Forget**

My dearest Alexander,

I know you're probably angry at me, wherever you are. I know that it's too late. This letter of forgiveness is long overdue, don't you agree? You most definitely will since you spent practically your whole life trying to earn forgiveness from me. You did everything, gave up everything to achieve it and what did I give you? A door slammed coldly in the face. Every. Damn. Time.

I don't know how I even kept my resolve to treat you so harshly. Because the truth was that every time I closed that door I closed a little bit of my heart too. So stubborn. I was so damn stubborn that I pushed away the only person that I had ever loved. That's right, I broke my own damn heart. Or you did. I'm still not quite sure who was to blame. Maybe we're both guilty. We broke each others'. Yes, that seems more fitting. Like overprotective mothers, we were, gripping on to each others' hearts so tightly that they shattered. It was inevitable really.

My darling Alexander, (oh how you hated being called that. "Call me Alec", you used to grumble and I would laugh. I still do when I remember you saying it. It's not quite the same though, more hollow...) I want you to know that I most definitely do forgive you. It really should be the the other way round. You don't know how fucking sorry I am for being so blind and stupid. And you're probably laughing at me or scorning me now when you read this letter - if you ever do - because I know you can. You'll be saying "At last! He realises! The dumb bastard." And why shouldn't you?

In fact, you might just be too stubborn to read it. That was our problem wasn't it? Stubbornness: the one trait we shared. Too stubborn for our own good. Anyway, regardless of whether you read them over my shoulder or not, these letters will remain in my apartment in a beautiful little blue box; the colour of your eyes. Remember? You got it for me, when we were shopping one day in Paris. It was so pretty, speckled in cerulean blue, glistening jewels. Reminds me of you, even now. The letters will remain in the blue box to the day I die - whenever that happens - since there's no use posting the letters to the institute. You're not there any more. You're in nowhere, which is where this letter is addressed to. But somehow, I doubt there are post boxes up there, where you are.

Is it nice up there Alec? Are you with Max, high above everything, looking down on me? Because, somehow, I doubt you're down below. You were just too good, too kind, too pure to be there. That's where people like me belong, not you. Although, I probably corrupted you a little - in more ways than one.

I drove you to do it, didn't I? I drove you to Camille myself by not telling you the truth like I should have done. What's the harm of a few words, the truth, in the grand scheme of things anyway? I suppose I've uttered many in my lifetime that have had disastrous consequences. Me and my big mouth have fallen into a lot of deep trouble. That's why I finally decided to keep it shut. It always seems to ruin things and I didn't want to ruin me and you, what we had by spilling out my past. I didn't realise at the time just how powerful the unknown could be as well though.

Silence and secrets can be just as deadly, it seems.

It pushed you over the edge, away from me. And I finally realise now that I had no right to keep them from you. You gave me everything and I gave you nothing in return. It's what drove us apart - those words. So I'm going to give them to you now. In the later letters, you will get my history, my past, all the words I could never say. You will know me in my entirety, the _real_ Magnus Bane - a unique gift. To be honest, I'm scared shitless about giving it to you, even though it's a bit of a cop out, writing it down. But think of it as a very late 'I'm sorry' gift. I know it's not much of a consolation but it's much better than a last minute, shop-bought silly old bear with a heart any day, huh? I'm _beary_ sorry just doesn't seem to cut it; not after all I've done to you.

It's rather ironic that this letter first began as a letter of forgiveness and now I'm apologising to you. That's how it always worked though. You always thought you weren't good enough for me when the truth was I wasn't good enough for you. You thought you'd done a terrible thing and I thought so too. It is only now, in fact, that I realise that I was just as much to blame, that I never deserved you Alec. I always mess things up. It's why my relationships never lasted until you. Well, that and I didn't really want them to last.

You are the only lasting one for me darling.

Forever. An awfully long time to spend without the person you love. You're always lingering just outside my reach. Fucking tease. Forever, I hate it. We both would have been better off if you'd done it, taken my immortality. I wouldn't have let you though, guarding the thing that plagues me most close to my heart. And you wouldn't have even done it. You don't have it in you: that selfishness. I realise that now. Too late, as always. Seems the old warlock's a little slow.

So I will write these letters, for many reasons. I can't name them all. To beg for forgiveness, to give you the words I couldn't say and that you so rightly deserved.

To remember.

Because I really don't want to forget and already I feel my mind slipping. What, exactly, was the texture of your hair? What was our first kiss like? What did you do in the mornings? Of course, it only takes a few moments to remember. I'm not _that_ complacent. Not yet. To prove it to you, here are the answers: Your hair felt like rough, dishevelled - of course - silk. The kiss was... magical (forgive me for the terrible choice of word. It doesn't truly giving the kiss justice, does it? It was so much more than words could ever describe. The only way I can put it is "better than glitter". That's a huge compliment in my world - which you already know.) And what you did in the mornings? Unknown. I still don't know what you did in the mornings because you were rarely there, always at training. I always used to whine about that, being the petulant child I once was. I hated not feeling your warm body curled up next to me, not seeing the expression on your face as you first woke up. Now, I would rather have you gone in the mornings - a small price to pay - than have you gone forever.

You know, sometimes I can kid myself into believing you're still here. "He's just at the institute. Just popped down the street." Or something like that. But then I roll over to what is, and always will be, your side of the bed. It's cold. There's no imprint of your sleeping body, no comforting whiff of sandalwood. You're gone. And the pain opens its arms for me again. Another day without you. Another day alone. And there's the other reason for writing these letters: because writing to you seems marginally saner than speaking to you in my head. Lonely is, indeed, an understatement to how I feel.

You have left me with only memories Alec; a weak, watery alternative. They slip through my mind like sand, lacking the vigour and feeling of you being here. It's as if I'm staring at you from the end of a tunnel when I look at the many pictures of you, like I'm screaming your name and you don't even look up, won't even meet my eyes.

I wonder if you've forgotten me. If I saw you now - wherever you are - what would you say? Would you forgive me? Oh, Alec if only that could ever happen, if I could see you. The real you, not just some ink on paper... Just like I used to be able to see you. I was a lucky bastard before, wasn't I? I got to see you everyday and I threw it all away so selfishly. For curiosity, no less.

I knew you would always come back though. I knew I could always turn you away after gorging on the sight of your beautiful face, not letting on that I cared.

That's what kept me going: when you came back. Because I could carry on just knowing that you were there, that you still cared. I knew you would wait so excruciatingly patiently until I could find it within myself to forgive you.

Except for the time you didn't come back. You couldn't. You were in another place.

That day, when I heard the buzzer ring, I thought "I'm ready to forgive you". But when I saw Isabelle's tears I knew it was too late. Too fucking late.

And I realised I'd let you go. I might as well have stabbed you in the heart myself for all the guilt I feel for not forgiving you in time. I get so mad at myself for that, will probably never forgive myself even... I've pretty much sentenced myself to self inflicted punishment though, since I have hardly anything left of you. And it's fucking torture Alec. But I'll take as much as I can get, for now, because I know that one day even these small mementoes will fail me too.

Ink fades, words slip away and memories vanish.

I'll be left with nothing.

I'm running out of time Alec. We always have been, haven't we?

Love, forever and always, ("Aren't they the same thing?" I bet you would say.)

Magnus


	2. Would you hold my hand?

**I've decided that I'll update this whenever I'm sad and have no inspiration for my other fics. I don't know what will happen if I don't even have inspiration for this... Hopefully it won't come to that...**

**This chapter isn't quite as...good as the last chapter. Or as long. The depression/angst level is consistent though I'm sure you'll be glad to know. **

**Please review. Thanks to all who did last time. I don't own TMI characters or the Titanic.**

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**Would you hold my hand?**

My dearest Alexander,

How to begin this letter? It feels silly asking you how you are. I know what you would say.

"Magnus I'm... How do you _think_ I am?"

I can't bring myself to write it though. The word. _That_ word. You probably wouldn't have a problem with it. You were never scared of it. But I always was. I never told you did I? One of my greatest fears: being buried in the ground and forgotten.

_Who is Magnus Bane?_

_You mean who __was__ Magnus Bane._

You remember, of course, when I would have nightmares, horrible nightmares and you would hold me and get a damp cloth to wipe my forehead and a mug of hot chocolate - even though I could do it myself. You would sing as well. You had a lovely singing voice Alec. You may think I'm biased but I truly think those songs you sang to me where beautiful - even if it was Nirvana. I listen to those songs now, those angry and screamy songs. I don't know why. Maybe to get closer to you in some way...

Anyway, I digress - it's easy to do when all I have to do in the day is ramble in my own thoughts. No clients anymore. Can't face them. Can't face their unnecessary sympathy.

_I'm sorry for your loss. _

No they're not. They just don't know what else to say. And the word _loss _just seems so inadequate, like I've lost my wallet or my cat or my keys. You're so much more than that. Really, they should say "I'm sorry you feel like half of you has died and your heart has been ripped to shreds and processed in a blender". Then, maybe I would talk to them.

So, I won't ask you how you are. There's no use in pretending any more than I already am. I live in my memories now Alec. Reality is far away. So let's start with the simple things.

Do you remember when I used to get upset with you because you wouldn't hold my hand? That used to hurt - when you would retract your hand like my very skin was poisonous. It would feel cold afterwards Alec, whenever your's wasn't there. My hands are always cold now though. Never warm, never complete. I always thought you were ashamed of me or that you didn't love me enough. I thought I was your dirty little secret.

And now I realise; you weren't ashamed. You were scared. And I wasn't there for you when you needed me. You had to do it all on your own - come out to the cold and callous shadowhunters who would cut you with their cruel words. _Like a thousand little papercuts. _Your biggest nightmare come true. I mean, I knew you were anxious but I didn't think you were _that_ scared. Everyone fears coming out and everyone fears d... But it seems like we both downplayed our fears of that dreaded d word and g word. Sounds immature now, doesn't it?

Now I know. You were scared shitless but you still did it. For me. Why didn't I do the same for you? Maybe I should. Maybe I should face my fear for you. Sometimes I think it would be better than what I go through everyday. Don't feel sorry for me though. They say pity's a bitter thing. _But it's better than hate._ Do you remember me saying that, when I first met you? No-one quite knew what to say except you. _It's not your fault._ Liar. It was. It always was and is and will be. My fault. But you could never see that, could you?

You should know that I would have waited Alec, if I'd had to. I would have loved you even if you remained ever infatuated with that blonde haired little bastard. I would have loved you even if you never told the world about it, about our love. I would have remained your dirty little secret forever. Because I want to be _yours_. Because I love you.

Except I didn't. Well, I did, but I didn't realise at the time just how much. I didn't realise a lot of things at the time. The extent of your fear, your love, my love, my fear, you. You in general Alec. I never figured you out.

And maybe that too scared me a little.

Maybe that's why I kept so many secrets. You see, I pride myself on being able to figure people out. It's one of my few talents. I'm not good at much else. If it weren't for magic - which I don't consider a talent so much as a trait I inherited - I would be pretty useless. I can't sing, can't cook, can't act. French kissing doesn't really count as a serious talent does it? _No_, you would definitely say, with a blush on those cheeks. Anyway, figuring people out is a skill I have acquired over time. Anyone would, if they'd been around as long as me.

But with you...

You may have thought that I know everything about you that there is to know. Sure, I know your favourite colour - black (which isn't a colour. It's a shade darling), how you liked your coffee - a caramel macchiato with extra cream and sprinkles (you told everyone that you liked it black but I know better...lying bastard), I have a map in my mind of every single scar and mark on your body, no matter how obscure or hidden (you had a slight indent in your left ear where Isabelle tried to cut your hair with a seraph blade when you were 12). But that's not what I mean.

You were always able to surprise me Alec. Now, a little known fact: I always hate surprises.

Would it surprise you to know that now I love them. Because of you.

You didn't even know you were doing it, did you?

But you surprised me when you kissed me in the hall of accords. You surprised me when you took my hand that first time in the street. You surprised me when you bought that necklace. _I love you._ You surprised me when you kissed me in the rain. You surprised me when I asked you why.

_"Why not? It's romantic as hell." _

You surprised me when you cried in Titanic for two hours straight because "Jack and Rose are meant to be together". You surprised me when you said that was your 67th time watching it and that you still hadn't accepted it.

You surprised me when you went to Camille.

That's why I hate them. Because surprises can be both good or bad. That's the surprise. And it made me hate you. No, not hate you - I could never do that. But I was certainly... disappointed. You had another side, one I thought had been put to rest. _You are not trivial. Never._ But you let it consume you Alec - the need to find my past, to solve immortality as if it were a maths problem. Maybe I was just disappointed that you had a flaw.

Yet now I see I was wrong. Surprises and flaws and disappointments are what we are made up of. Nobody is perfect and I was wrong to leave you because you weren't. Hell, I'm nowhere near perfect. I have a whole book of flaws and a library of regrets. My biggest volume in that library is you. You are my biggest regret Alec. No, not you. Me (now I sound like a cliché break-up line) _It's not you, it's me._ My fault. For not getting you back, for not fighting. You fought for us but I didn't. I let you go. You have no idea how much I fucking hate myself for doing that. It's carved into my now blemished skin. I wonder if you'd even recognise me if you saw me.

My hair is ragged and unruly. My eyes: sad and weighed down by drooping bags. I haven't worn make-up in months. The glitter is long gone. And my hands...

They're stained.

Stained with blood and ink and death.

You certainly wouldn't want to hold my hand now, Alec.

And you never will.

Love Magnus.


End file.
